


Without a Home

by CloverBell13



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Iron Dad, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Gun Violence, Haphephobia, Homeless Peter Parker, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Iron Dad, Mentioned Skip Westcott, Non-Explicit, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Past Child Abuse, Peter Parker Whump, Protective Tony Stark, Sensory Overload, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt, Tony Stark Has A Heart, messing with the timeline, noncon only referenced
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-07-25 17:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16201919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloverBell13/pseuds/CloverBell13
Summary: There was blood on his hands— on his clothes and shoes, and on his face from where he had been wiping at the never ending stream of tears. But it wasn’t his blood...Ben and May were dead.And it was all his fault.—Tragedy strikes again, claiming the lives of the last of Peter Parker’s family, leaving him little choice but to run away and hide these new powers that have essentially ruined his life.Months later with the threat of the accords looming over the avengers and the public in fear of all enhanced individuals, Tony Stark makes it his personal mission to track down and capture the new neighborhood menace; Spider-man. However, what he ends up finding instead is a missing orphaned boy, starving, injured, and nearly dead.Homeless Peter AU where both May and Ben are killed the same night by a mugger (and of course, Peter blames himself)





	1. Breathe

_Breathe._

_Just breathe._

The freezing December air hurt his lungs, but it kept him focussed, just as the pounding of his feet against the pavement was the only thing keeping him grounded. The police cars were far behind him, but the sound of their sirens still echoed in his ears. He pushed himself to run even faster to escape the sound of the sirens, the sound of his Uncle’s voice calling out for him, the screams of his Aunt... the fire of the gun.

_Breathe._

_Why can’t I breathe?_

Tears had distorted his vision, causing his foot to catch something. He stretched out his shaking hands to catch himself as he fell, letting the pain of the impact bring him back to the reality of what just happened. There was blood on his hands— on his clothes and shoes, and on his face from where he had been wiping at the never ending stream of tears. But it wasn’t his blood...

May and Ben are dead... And it was all his fault.

All he wanted to do was to lower himself the rest of the way to the dirty pavement so he could curl up and just wait to die. But he knew he couldn’t, he had to keep going; had to get away before they found him; before he hurt anyone else. Forcing his unwilling body off the ground he continued down the dark empty streets of Queens.

_Breathe._

_Just breathe._

* * *

 

**ONE HOUR EARLIER**

Slowly lowering the modified swim goggles back onto the cluttered desk next to a pair of frameless glasses, Peter sighed and began rubbing at his tired eyes. At this point he really wouldn’t be surprised if his eye bags had bags. Sleep had all but evaded him for the last week ever since ‘ _the bite_ ’, as he had come to call it, happened. Every little sound kept him up at night as his soundproof headphones could only do so much since his senses seemed dialed to eleven now. The goggles he had created helped his vision stay focussed, however it wasn’t like he could live his life with ear plugs and goggles on everyday. That was why he was currently still awake and trying to create a less conspicuous design using the frames of his old glasses.

Exasperated, hungry, and sleep deprived, he began rummaging around his makeshift workstation until he found the notes containing his latest design. Picking up a pen, he was about to start making modifications to his blueprint when—

**_CRACK_ **

Startled, Peter eyed the broken pen in his hand before once again cursing his newly acquired super strength. Turning in his seat he tossed the broken pen into the garba— _wait_...

The _clanging_ sound that would normally accompany a pen being thrown into the can never came. Looking back down at his hand he was met with the sight of the offending object superglued to his fingers.

“Crap...” he muttered, giving his hand a gentle shake. The pen didn’t budge, causing a dramatic sigh to escape his lips. His worn out state in combination with an oncoming headache was doing nothing for his patience, “Get off!” he growled in frustration as he began furiously shaking his hand.

“Peter?” The voice of his uncle traveled down the hall causing Peter’s head to shoot up in panic. He then glanced back down to the pen that was still securely attached to his fingers, seeing that the dark ink had started leaking from the crack and was now making it’s way onto his hand and down his wrist. He could hear footsteps making their way closer to him. Without thinking, he jumped out of his chair and sharply flicked his wrist, hitting his fingers against the edge of the desk in a desperate attempt to try and dislodge the pen once more. The strong twinge of pain caused him to hiss, teethe clenched as the stupid writing utensil clattered to the floor and began spilling onto the carpet as his finger’s began to throb angrily. _Great. Another injury to be added to his list of growing accidents due to ‘the bite’._

“Peter?” the door to his room opened revealing not only Uncle Ben, but his Aunt May as well, both wearing expressions of concern. “It’s getting late Pete, we didn’t expect you to still be up.”

“Oh, well,” clutching at his sore fingers, Peter prayed that they wouldn’t notice his ink-stained hand or the growing black smear in his carpet. “Just studying... you know, with finals coming up— I was actually just about to head to bed so...” he trailed off.

His Aunt and Uncle shared a look he couldn’t quite decipher before fully entering the room and closing the door. Suddenly Peter felt cornered, anxiety building as they made their way closer.

“Actually Peter, we’ve been wanting to talk to you,” his uncle started, while making his way over to the bed, gesturing for Peter to join him as May made herself comfortable in the now unoccupied chair at his desk.

Gingerly Peter crossed the small space and sat next to his uncle, tugging at his sleeve to hide his aching fingers. The old mattress sagged as he seated himself next to Ben. “ _So..._ ” Peter began, trying and failing to sound calm.

“So,” Uncle Ben supplied with a comforting smile, “How’s high school?”

“It’s... fine,” he answered. May and Ben had been so proud of him for getting into Midtown School of Science and Technology, and Peter had felt pretty confident when he first started school. However, only three months into his freshman year, ‘ _the bite_ ’ occurred during his first school trip.

“Just fine?” Ben inquired. Peter nodded, eyes drifting over to see May’s shrewd gaze. She was studying him.

“Yeah, just fine,” he reaffirmed.

“So you’re enjoying your classes? Your teachers? The other kids are friendly?”

Stiffly, Peter continued to nod. What else could he do? What could he say? _‘Sorry, I'm a freak of nature now and my senses are on overdrive and it's driving me insane. I have no outlet for all this new pent up energy and strength because old Peter was a weakling, and I'm terrified I'll accidentally hurt someone. I can’t even go a day without harming myself... My metabolism is also working double time and so I'm always starving because I don't want to eat you out of house and home. I hate myself for making you worry, but I don't want to make it worse by adding radioactive spiders to the mix. Please don’t hate me.’_

No.

So he just sat there and said nothing; eyes suddenly burning with unshed tears. He was just so tired, angry, and scared.

“Peter—” Ben’s voice was gentle, but it still aggravated the growing pain that had been building behind his eyes.

It was foolish of him to think he could hide this from them, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try, “Everything’s fine... I’ve just got a lot of school work, that’s all,” he snapped, still tugging nervously at his sleeve.

Ben’s concerned expression briefly slipped into irritation, “Everything’s not fine Peter! You’re distancing yourself from— What’s up with your arm?”

Peter immediately stopped tugging at his sleeve, panic overtaking his senses, but Ben was already reaching over before Peter could process what was happening.

Uncle Ben’s hold on Peter’s still sore fingers caused him to softly gasp in pain. Gripping Peters ink-stained and abused hand, Ben quickly pulled up Peter’s sleeve to reveal a mess of splotchy yellow and purple marks that made their way up his arm to his elbow. The bruising had been acquired throughout the week due to several incidents of not being used to his new strength or ‘stickiness’ yet.

“What happened?! Who did this?!” Ben demanded, worry clouding his face.

“No one! It— it was just an accident, okay?”

“Peter, if school bullies are getting physical—”

“It’s not— Look, I just…” his head started pounding, making it harder for him to think straight.

May was up and quickly crossing the room to make her way to Peter. She took his uninjured hand in hers, crouching down to be eye level with him before softly saying, “Peter, breathe, just breathe,” she encouraged.

Peter could see the concern in her eyes, hear the worry in her voice, feel the fear in her touch...

Once again Ben pressed, softer this time, “Is someone hurting you Peter?”

“No,” he answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. Peter could see that May and Ben were trying to keep their expressions calm and supportive, but with his heightened senses he could easily feel their rapidly accelerating heart rates. They were scared...

Cautiously, Aunt May reached out a hand to touch Peter’s face, "Peter, please be honest with us. We know something's wrong. Is... is someone _hurting_ you again?" her voice faltered before adding, “Like Skip?”

_Breathe._

_Just breathe._

Peter inhaled sharply before standing and pushing away May's outstretched hand. Her touch suddenly causing every nerve to be on fire. Stumbling away he was barely able to keep his legs from buckling out from underneath himself. He told May he never wanted to talk about... _that_ again! She knew that. She knew!

“N-No! It's nothing like that!” he sputtered, squeezing his eyes shut. And suddenly it was as if his whole world was splitting apart. Everything was too bright, too loud; everything hurt. His panic refused to let up for even a moment of respite; something was wrong with him...

_What’s happening to me?!_

“Peter!” Once again he could feel hands on him, this time gripping his shoulders firmly, as though trying to ground him. May’s touch had never been anything but gentle, but now every brush of contact caused a painful burning sting to erupt under his skin, and so with shaking hands he blindly shoved May away. Hard.

“Just stop trying to butt into my life! You're not my parents!”

Suddenly Ben is yelling. Peter thinks he’s probably angry. However, he is having a hard time comprehending what is being said as everything was just too loud.

_Ben’s shouts, May’s heartbeat, his own labored breathing, their neighbors television, cars honking, the cries of an infant..._

Groaning, Peter covered his ears with his hands before attempting to open his eyes once again. He felt his tears burn as they dripped down his face, but the sight that greeted him made his blood run cold. May was struggling to stand, one hand holding onto Ben for support, the other cradling a bloody nose.

_No._

Horrified at what he just did, Peter stumbled backwards before turning and gracelessly making his way towards the door. He needed to get out of there before he hurt someone again, but May and Ben had closed the door behind them after they entered and opening it would would require Peter to remove one of his hands from his ears. With little to no time to debate his decision, Peter thrust out his inky hand to seize the door’s handle and he felt it easily give under his grip. Desperately, he attempted to gently turn the handle, but found his effort to be futile as the crushed door knob was now unusable. He was trapped!

_Breathe._

_Why can’t I breathe?_

The walls of his room felt as though they were closing in on him and the mere presence of his Aunt and Uncle was suffocating, he needed to get away; needed to breathe. Without thinking, he threw his entire body against his bedroom door. In one strong shove, his door was off it’s hinges and Peter was stumbling through their apartment complex with no other motive other than to ‘get out’ so he could breathe again.

_Breathe._

_Just breathe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! I've been wanting to write this story for awhile now, however life has just been a little hectic. But I finally sat down and pounded this one out. I don't have a beta reader, so please forgive any spelling/grammar errors.


	2. Stained Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE POSITIVE RESPONSE TO CHAPTER ONE!! It really motivated me to keep going, as I’m not a very fast writer… I can only hope you enjoy this second chapter just as much! <3  
> ALSO, I added the warning ‘Graphic Depictions Of Violence’ for this chapter just in case, so be warned. May and Ben’s deaths are… not pretty.  
> All aboard the pain train...

Running blindly through the streets of Queens, Peter was only fully aware of two things; pain, pain and the blistering cold. He was shivering, however he was unsure which of the two sensations he could even attribute his trembling to, as most of his effort went into hopelessly trying to block out the lights and sounds of the city; block out the pain...

Everything was just too much, but despite having his eyes closed and ears covered, he was somehow able to continue unsteadily toward the dark, toward the quiet, toward where he could finally find relief and his suffering could end.

Barely stumbling along, it was almost as if _something_ was guiding him... _Turn here. Sidestep, someone’s coming. Turn again. Don’t trip, there’s a curb..._

The further he went, the darker his surroundings became, it was a welcome relief to his hypersensitive eyes, but the never-ending clamor of New York gave his poor ears no such solace.

_“Peter!”_

Faintly, he could hear voices calling his name in the distance... _Ben and May._ It seemed his enhanced senses had decided to hone in on their familiar voices. They were likely still several blocks away, but that didn’t lessen each painful throb that every desperate call caused.

_“Peter!”_

“J- just leave me alone...” he whispered through chattering teethe, pressing his shaking palms even harder against his ears.

Eventually he felt his body start to give, exhaustion and pain finally overtaking him. He was just so tired... Slumping against the nearest wall, he began to slowly slide down to the cold wet pavement below.

_“Peter, please— ”_

Bringing his legs up closer to his chest, he brought his head down and placed it between his shaking knees in a final attempt to block out his Aunt and Uncle’s worried cries, and for a moment he didn’t feel pain; didn’t feel _anything_. Everything was _quiet_ , everything was _dark_ , everything was _okay_...

...Until the shouting returned, much closer this time. Tightening the hold his knees had on his head, he tried to shrink even further into himself. At that moment Peter wanted nothing more than to just disappear and sink into the peaceful recesses of his mind.

It was then that he felt the figure approach from the shadows; an odd feeling in the back of his mind warned him to be cautious.

“B-Ben?” he muttered quietly, wondering if his uncle had finally found him.

The harsh shouts continued, only to be followed by a rough kick to his shoulder. Without warning, he was shoved against up the wall. The strong blow had forced his bowed head up quickly, causing him to hit it painfully on the brick wall behind him. Unexpectedly pinned by a worn and dirty sneaker, Peter tried to force his aching eyes open, revealing the menacing silhouette of a large man with unkempt blonde hair shouting above him.

"W- what?" he asked fearfully, unable to make out what the man was screaming at him about— scenes of being forcibly held down as a child were suddenly flooding his memories, filling him with absolute terror.

_Skip’s voice telling him to be quiet as his hands roamed..._

_His hands..._

_It hurt..._

Suddenly, an odd feeling was swiftly creeping it’s way up his spine, eventually stopping at the base of his neck. He felt a tingling like sensation just before a moment of intense clarity descended upon him just as the infuriated man was drawing a gun.

“Don’t test me! I said— ”

The same _‘sense’,_  which had surreptitiously guided him to find refuge in the dark alleyway, was now screaming at him—

_DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!_

_It all happened so fast..._

Without hesitation, Peter instantly rounded on the mugger, getting out of the sights of the handgun and quickly taking hold of the muggers wrist with his own hand before harshly twisting it. A sickening **_CRACK_** was heard just before the gun fell out of the man’s now limp grip. With quick movements and a strong shove, he suddenly had his attacker pinned against the wall by his throat; the very same wall that he himself had been cowering against only moments prior.

It was only when he heard the man’s pained choking that he fully realized what he had just done.

He jumped away abruptly as though burned, and the would be mugger crumpled down to the dirty payment cradling his surely broken wrist and gasping for air that had been denied him by Peter’s own hands.

_His hands..._

Glancing down at his shaking and still partly ink-covered hands, the full magnitude of what he just did hit him all at once.

_Oh my—_

_I could have killed him..._

“I- I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I- I- I didn’t mean to-” he stammered, stumbling back further from the man before backing into the brick wall on the opposite side of the alley. He leaned his full weight against it as his world once again started to collapse around him.

_It’s too loud..._

_It’s too bright..._

_It’s..._

“PETER!”

_Uncle Ben?_

_May?_

Strong arms were suddenly engulfing him; preventing him from falling fully into his minds dark abyss. The familiar comforting smell of his Aunt May overwhelmed his senses, but for once he welcomed it. Burying his face in his aunts sweater, he dried his tears as he inhaled shakily; she smelled of vanilla and mint.

He couldn’t understand what she was screaming about, but in her hold he felt grounded; _safe_. Here he was able to block out the world. Block out the pain, the struggling, the shouts, the gun—

**_BANG_ **

In one fatal instant his world imploded, and with it vanilla and mint were replaced with the scent of blood.

Everything went black.

* * *

The muffled sound of police sirens in the distance eventually roused him enough to force his heavy eyes open. Squinting up at the starless sky, Peter silently took stock of his situation. The intense pain from before had been replaced with a feeling of numbness. He felt exhausted and cold, but despite his weary state he focused all his effort to will his body to move and just try to sit up. However, he found he was unable to as he suddenly came to realize that a large weight was pressing down on his chest.

The unmoving tangled mess of brown hair caught his gaze first. His eye's widened in horror but the rest of his body was frozen in shock.

_May._

Scrambling, he quickly lifted his aunt off of himself. That’s when he saw the blood; a splatter of dark red staining both the back of her favorite sweater and his own hoodie. Deep down he knew there was no point in checking for a pulse, he could easily discern the lack of a heartbeat, but he did so anyway with a pool of tears streaming down his face.

The realization hit Peter as though _he’d_ been shot; she must've jumped in front of him to protect him... She died _because_ of him.

Sobbing, he hopelessly clung to his poor aunts ever growing colder form, his arms wrapping around her body in a desperate attempt for comfort. But May didn’t hug him back; _couldn’t_ hug him back. She would never hold him again, or kiss him, or laugh, or ask him how his day was, or bring home surprise Thai takeout, or watch her favorite cheesy medical dramas, or dance in their living room with Ben—

_Ben..._

Peter didn’t think he was even capable of feeling more pain... that was until he saw Uncle Ben.

Laying lifeless just a few feet away was Ben’s discarded body, a bullet wound prominently displayed in his too still chest.

His head lay on it’s side staring in Peter and May’s direction, his eyes glassy and unfocussed. In the dim light Peter saw what looked like tears leaking from his eyes. A small trickle of blood had also dripped from his gaping mouth, evidence of his struggles to breathe in his last moments. He had died in agony, staring at the limp forms of his wife and nephew...

_No..._

Peter’s focus was instantly drawn again to the sirens, closer then before. Panic began to envelop him as he clumsily staggered to his feet, bracing his hands against the cold brick for balance, but seeing his once ink-stained hands now covered with blood sent him over the edge.

Ben and May, his sword and shield and the only family he had left were gone...

He couldn't protect them...

And so he ran.

_Breathe._

_Just breathe._

The freezing December air hurt his lungs, but it kept him focussed, just as the pounding of his feet against the pavement was the only thing keeping him grounded. The police cars were far behind him, but the sound of their sirens still echoed in his ears. He pushed himself to run even faster to escape the sound of the sirens, the sound of his Uncle’s voice calling out for him, the screams of his Aunt... the fire of the gun.

_Breathe._

_Why can’t I breathe?_

Tears had distorted his vision, causing his foot to catch something. He stretched out his shaking hands to catch himself as he fell, letting the pain of the impact bring him back to the reality of what just happened. There was blood on his hands— on his clothes and shoes, and on his face from where he had been wiping at the never ending stream of tears. But it wasn’t his blood...

May and Ben are dead... And it was all his fault.

All he wanted to do was to lower himself the rest of the way to the dirty pavement so he could curl up and just wait to die. But he knew he couldn’t, he had to keep going; had to get away before they found him; before he hurt anyone else. Forcing his unwilling body off the ground he continued down the dark empty streets of Queens.

_Breathe._

_Just breathe._

* * *

 On first glance, Peter’s bedroom looked like any other teenagers. It was only upon further inspection that one would notice the ink and blood stains in the carpet, the various curious bits and bobs and mess of papers that littered his desk, and the broken door now laying on its side in the hall.

Wasting no time, Peter opened his closet door, pulling out an old duffel bag and rapidly started stuffing it full with random articles of clothing in a blind panic. _Jackets, scarf, sweaters, jeans, underwear, socks, gloves, shoes, sweats, T-shirts, beanie..._

Once satisfied with his clothing haul, he turned around and picked up his school bag before unzipping it and turning it over to empty the bags contents all over the floor. He quickly moved on to his desk, grabbing his homemade goggles and some tools that he then proceeded to shove into the back-pack. Shuffling through his many designs and notes, he sorted out any notebooks and sketches that he deemed valuable before adding them to his bag as well. Turning to his night stand, he reached for his phone to unplug his soundproof headphones and proceeded to add them to the back-pack.

The missed message notification suddenly caught his eye. There were _several_ missed messages, in fact.

 _Ned_.

Hesitantly, Peter unlocked his phone, gingerly skimming through the various missed texts and calls. Ned had been wanting to hang out with him, asking Peter when he was free to come over, and after receiving no response, asked if everything was okay...

Peter grimaced. He was the farthest thing from _‘okay’_.

As if he couldn’t feel any more guilty, Peter had been ignoring Ned for the past week, not knowing what else to do with everything that had been going on because of _‘the bite’._

He felt tears burning in his eyes for the hundredth time that night.

Opening up his messages app, he quickly typed _‘I’m sorry’_ , before pressing send and proceeded to toss the cell under his bed so he would not be tempted to look at it if Ned responded.

**_CLUNK_ **

Turning back toward the sound, Peter stalled; his phone had made contact with something hard and hollow sounding.

He told himself to just leave it, that he had very little time anyway and he shouldn't waste it.

Making up his mind, he quickly exited the room and made his way down the hall until he reached the door to May and Ben’s bedroom. He paused before he began slowly pushing the door open. It felt wrong being in there, as if he wasn’t worthy to be there anymore.

Not wanting to linger, he swiftly crossed the room and opened the drawer he knew contained Ben and May’s holiday savings. They had wanted to do something nice that Christmas; travel and spend time together as a family...

Peter didn’t know why he felt guilty as he took the entire wad of cash; it wasn’t as though they were ever going to use it...

Fresh tears dripped down his face.

Returning to his room he shoved the money into the back-pack before zipping it closed and shouldering it. He was reaching down to pick up the large duffel when his brown eyes drifted over to the bed once again.

He stared at it for a moment before exhaling loudly, as all of his resolve left him and his curiosity won.

Dropping down to the floor, he searched through the untidy mess of clothes, papers, and LEGOs with his eyes before spotting his phone and something fairly large and red laying beside it. Reaching under, his fingers made contact with hard plastic just before he pulled out an old and worn Iron Man mask, causing his tear-filled eyes to widen.

Ben had gotten it for him as a kid, back when he was still mostly untouched by the cruelties of the world. He’d already been orphaned, and some would consider that would have been enough pain for a lifetime. He would frequently hide behind the mask so May and Ben couldn’t see him crying, often wishing that Iron Man would come and help him whenever he missed mommy and daddy, whenever school bullies said hurtful things, whenever Skip touched him...

Slowly, Peter got to his feet and hesitantly turned the old mask over, reading the three words his eight year old hand had scrawled on the inside of the plastic so many years ago with a dying sharpie...

NICE WORK KID

Iron Man had been his hero, but he never came.

Shuddering, Peter hastily set the mask down on the bed.

_Iron Man never came._

He’s still crying, but this time he has no mask to hide behind. Peter quickly readjusted his back-pack right before picking up the heavy duffel bag and started to head for the door, leaving the mask behind.

He didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! I feel so grateful that anyone would take time out of their day to read something I put effort into. I just hope you can forgive all the crap I put Peter through... as well as any spelling/grammar errors.  
> THANKS AGAIN FOR READING!! <3


	3. Sorry

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

"Arg!" Peter swiftly retracted his hand from the pile of junk that he'd been sifting through to reveal a deep cut on the tip of his exposed thumb. His initial shock was quickly replaced by pain as the open wound began to bleed and throb in discomfort. Grumbling incoherently, Peter suddenly kicked the garbage pile in annoyance, successfully uncovering the broken bottle that had nicked his finger. In an attempt to stem the bleeding, he used his uninjured hand to put pressure on the cut, which only caused him to inhale sharply from the sudden increase in pain as it did little to slow the flow.

Peter sighed just before fully standing up, his right hand still being cradled by his uninjured left one. He figured it was about time he started heading back anyway as he could see the sun was going to start dipping below the horizon soon, and he'd already collected a pretty good haul of parts for that day. Besides that, he could also see a set of dark, ominous looking clouds approaching in the distance.

He shouldered his threadbare back-pack, now barely being held together and in tatters from its constant use of hauling what most might consider rubbish. It wasn’t as though he was unfamiliar with dumpster diving, but nowadays the practice was less about pursuing a hobby for finding electronics and building gadgets and more about survival.

Quickly he jumped out of the dumpster, mindful of his bleeding thumb and taking extra care to not graze it against anything. After double checking to make sure his bag was fully closed, Peter began making his way back to his _‘home’._

The winding back streets were easy to get lost in if one didn't know where they were going, but Peter had memorized the unsavory alleys while also using his abnormal senses to stay away from trouble. Thus, he had become more of a ghostly presence to those who also prowled the dark and unfriendly streets— Never seen. Never heard. It was like Peter Parker had ceased to exist entirely.

Slinking further down the dark streets of New York, he tried to pull his dirty jacket tighter around his shivering form. His cut thumb was causing him some trouble, but he was just having a difficult time gripping the fabric in general as his aching fingers were refusing to work properly due to the cold. The shabby gloves he wore had holes in some of the fingers, giving him no protection against the chill of early March. Bringing his hands up, he attempted to rapidly rub them together to create enough friction to bring life back into his frozen fingers. Ever since _‘the bite’_ it seemed he could never get properly warmed up anymore, always donning several layers in an attempt to chase away the chill. With spring approaching, Peter had hoped that perhaps he would finally find relief from the constant biting cold, but it seemed winter refused to give up and end this year—

_Step. Step. Step._

Turning around quickly, eyes widening in alarm, Peter anxiously began scanning the surrounding area as he swore he heard something. Then, tentatively, he closed his eyes, using his sensitive hearing to search the seemingly empty streets.

**_Step. Step. Step._ **

His eyes instantly shot open as an intense panic suddenly enveloped him, terror rooting him to the spot in the middle of the dark street. _Why didn’t I sense this person approaching earlier!?_ The now all too familiar instinct of 'fight or flight' consumed his senses, however it was as if his own body was being torn in two and refusing to listen to him. He stood firm; rigid, his body ready to defend itself from an oncoming threat. But his mind was screaming in fear, dread filling his consciousness. He could feel his chest tightening, his breathing becoming terribly shallow and fast, tears beginning to well up in his eyes and blur his vision... He suddenly felt trapped; a prisoner in his own body.

Peter remained fixed in place while the two invisible forces within him battled for dominance.

_Move! I don't want to hurt anyone! Please! Please... I'm sorry. I’m so sorry._

**_Step. Step. Step._ **

Despite having his back turned away from the approaching figure, he could feel the exact moment the man turned the corner and began making his way down the alleyway.

Peter knew he had to be practically sobbing by now, utterly unable to stop his pathetic tears and trembling, but he felt so disconnected from his own body at that moment that it was almost as if he was just a random bystander watching a train reck about to unfold.

**_Step! Step! Ste—_ **

"Hey...? Hey man, you alright?" The man's deep voice had an air of uncertainty, and his breath held the faint aroma of alcohol. "You lost?"

_Please... get away from me..._

"Uh... you need me to call someone?"

_They’re all gone... it’s my fault... I’m a freak... I’m sorry..._

" _Okaay?_ Dude, yooo—, Holy shi—!," the man exclaimed before reaching out his hand towards Peter’s shaking form, "You’re bleeding!" A concerned hand brushed against Peter’s arm hesitantly.

It was at that moment that Peter’s fear ultimately won; the painful touch of the man forcing him out of his stupor and breaking him free of his paralysis. Peter jumped back from the baffled and slightly drunk man at an inhuman speed before turning on his heels and breaking into a mad sprint.

He could feel himself beginning to hyperventilate, but any concern for his current wellbeing was brushed aside as just one thought continuously flooded his mind—

_GET AWAY_

He left the confused man standing alone in the darkening alley, pondering about why a kid was all by himself in that particular part of town. If he had been bothered to follow the fleeing teenager, he would have turned the corner to find that the mysterious boy was gone, as though he had just vanished into thin air. The only evidence that the boy having ever been there at all, was a small trail of blood that made it’s way up the wall of the nearby building.

_‘Breathe._

_‘Just Breathe...’_

May’s disembodied voice beat against his consciousness, causing him to cry out in pain before collapsing on the rooftop, unable to find the strength to bear himself up any longer, "I- I can’t. I can’t!"

Peter sobbed, desperately gasping for air that simply refused to fill his lungs. _Not here! Not now! I can’t—_

But he could already feel the strange prickling sensation he acquired from the lack of oxygen in his lungs transitioning into fiery pain.

He shut his eyes tightly against the sudden intenseness of the lowering sun; the harsh orange light causing him to curl into himself on the dirty rooftop. The sounds of the city suddenly assaulted his ears, as the onslaught of a thousand conversations overwhelmed him. The lingering scent of alcohol mixed with sweat from the man in the street below made Peter gag, but his empty stomach had nothing left to give. He clutched at his head as a terrible throbbing suddenly erupted in his skull.

However, as bad as the pain was, it did nothing to distract from the phantom hands that he could feel grabbing at him; touching him, suffocating him...

_‘Is someone hurting you?’_

“No!” he shrieked in response to Ben’s question.

Clambering for his bag, Peter hastily unzipped the front pocket and pulled out a pair of odd looking goggles and a set of headphones seemingly not attached to anything. He wiped his eyes free of tears before clumsily slipping the goggles into place and proceeded to do the same with the headphones.

Relief never came immediately, but at least it seemed the attack on his senses was stopped from progressing further. But the bloodstained hands never left...

_‘Quiet! It’s just a little blood, Einstein...’_

“S- stop... Please...” he muttered, too weak to fight back.

He lay there for at least an hour, trembling from both the cold and pain, before his worn out and feeble body finally gave into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

A single cold prick stung his face, but it alone wasn't enough to rouse him from his dreamless sleep; only enough to disturb him and cause his face to scrunch up in annoyance. However, one prick turned into two, and two turned into five, and five rapidly evolved into a downpour.

Gasping, Peter shot up, drenched from the sudden rainstorm. He haphazardly tore off his goggles and headphones just to be greeted by the darkness and chill of an unwelcoming night. The minimal warmth the sun had provided had long disappeared below the horizon, replaced by the dark and gloomy water-filled clouds up above.

Trembling, Peter made to stand up, but found himself to be too unsteady before crashing back down into a miserable heap. It seemed even with super powers, his starving and frozen body could only handle so much, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could continue like this. Inhaling deeply, he slowly rolled his tired body over to gaze up at the starless sky above him. His enhanced eyesight could make out each individual raindrop in the night sky; it was almost beautiful, like thousands of tiny stars falling to earth, and for just a brief moment, Peter felt content.

_Maybe I'll just lay here, and if I'm lucky I'll die of hypother—_

He stopped mid thought.

_Oh..._

At that moment Peter could feel the tears that were streaming down his cheeks become indistinguishable from the cold rain on his face.

“I’m sorry”, he softly apologized to no one in particular.

Lazily turning his head away from the sky, he looked out at the city skyline; hundreds of lights twinkling in the distance. Narrowing his eyes just a bit, he focussed on the rundown and abandoned district of Queens.

He wasn't too far from _'home';_ he could easily see the abandoned warehouse in the distance, despite the lack of lights and sparkle of the city skyline.

His worn out body felt heavy and protested greatly when he once again tried to stand up.

“Come on Peter. Come on, come on Peter...” He repeated it like a mantra, almost losing himself in the chant as he slowly rose up, gathered his discarded belongings, and took his first step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND YOUR PATIENCE!! <3 I am very grateful that anyone would take the time to read my work, I just hope you can forgive any spelling/grammar errors.


	4. Why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH!!! Thank you for your patience, the last couple of weeks have been super crazy busy for me, but I'm so glad to finally be able to get this one up! Thanks again for your patience, so please enjoy the (longest I've written so far I believe) chapter!!

“Come on... Come... on...” Peter panted out. He was completely spent; not able to remember a time when he had ever felt so cold and just ready to drop from exhaustion.

Due to his slow pace it took almost two hours before he eventually stumbled into the old warehouse. To most the building would be inaccessible as the locks and boarded up windows would successfully keep out most intruders, but whoever had boarded up the old building in the first place surely didn’t count on the possibility of super powered teenagers needing a place to stay, and so it didn’t take long for Peter to break in. Once inside, anyone could see that the abandoned warehouse was in an obvious state of disrepair, with trash and metal pipes littering the floor. The walls were covered in a mix of caked on grime and amateur graffiti from before the old building had been condemned and closed off. It gave the place the air of a stereotypical hideout for hoodlums.

Slowly, he crossed the large and empty expanse, barely catching himself against the cold and dirty wall when his legs ultimately decided to give out beneath him. During the last leg of his trek back, his breathing began coming out in hard huffs and wheezes. He thought that _‘the bite’_ had at least made him immune to getting sick, but perhaps he’d been mistaken, as he was suddenly hyperaware of his raspy breathing.

Unwilling to hold himself up for any longer, Peter finally allowed his body to fully collapse against the wall before he proceeded to slowly slide down to the filthy floor below. Closing his tired eyes, he tried to regulate his heavy breathing, taking in a few slow breaths before breaking into a violent coughing fit.

He sat there for several minutes, just shivering and wheezing before eventually recovering enough to catch his breath. Shakily inhaling, he glanced up at the rafters of the warehouse before once again muttering to himself, “C- come... on... ‘ome on... Peter...”

By some miracle, he found the strength to stand and place his trembling hands against the wall for support. His gaze slowly drifted up towards the ceiling once again, causing him to grit his teeth and steel himself. 

Perhaps at one time the building had contained stairs, or maybe even a ladder leading up to the higher floors, but as with many things in this part of the city, time and the lack of upkeep had all but erased them.

There was only one way up now...

_Come on Peter._

Grunting, he placed one hand higher than the other and struggled to haul himself up. He repeated the motion, one sticky hand straining to rise above the other, until after a grueling effort he crumpled into a worn out heap on the third floor.

Slowly, he crawled over to his makeshift living space and shrugged off his sopping back-pack. A booming **_THUD_** followed by the sound of jangling metal bits settling echoed throughout the empty building. He didn’t spare the back-pack a second glance; the waterlogged bag of miscellaneous electrical parts was useless to him now.

With chattering teeth, he began to strip off the rest of his sodden clothes and shoes, gasping harshly when the brisk air bit at his sensitive skin. His uncontrollable shivering in combination with the state of the room made it a much more difficult task to redress himself than it should have been, as the floor was littered with various screws, bits of wire, tools, and other such objects that made crossing the room with bare feet troublesome.

Ripping open his duffel bag, he proceeded to don a pair of ratty jeans and a red hoodie that was in desperate need of a good wash, as well as mismatched socks and a hole-ridden, threadbare excuse for a scarf that May had attempted to knit him. It no longer smelled of her, but it was one of the few comforts Peter still owned.

However, the change of clothes did nothing to put a stop to his trembling.

He groaned at the realization; it appeared he would have to suffer through another freezing night. With quivering hands, he grabbed a blanket off his makeshift bed (a combination of blankets, towels, curtains, assorted couch cushions and whatever else he had been lucky to find on his little excursions) and draped it across his shoulders in a meager attempt to chase away the chill before ambling over to his broken heater.

Peter had built it in his first month after... _everything_ , once it had become blatantly clear that his post _‘the bite’_ state could no longer handle the cold like it used to. That car battery powered heater was the only thing that had kept him alive during the past three months, but the night before it had stopped working and as his luck would have it, when he went out in search of parts to fix it that day rather than searching for food, it just had to be on a day that rained and rendered all of his work pointless.

"Screw spiders and their inability to thermoregulate", he muttered bitterly, just as another tremor racked his body and a second round of coughing started, causing his throat to ache in spiteful protest of the days activities. After his wheezing eventually subsided, he proceeded to shove the faulty devise into the corner of the room, where his junk pile lay with all of his other broken and unfinished inventions.

Returning back to the duffel bag, his quivering hand pulled out a single protein bar. He sighed, knowing that it was all he would be eating that night, as he had recently decreased his food rations to one bar per day. His money supply was all but gone, and his food stock was getting dangerously low. Normally, he was able to get by on whatever he found during the day, but as time went on, it was becoming more apparent that his body not only craved more food, but needed the extra intake. He had always been on the slimmer side, even after _‘the bite’_ and the unexpected side effect of gaining muscles overnight. But now his clothes hung limply from his malnourished body. He was certain he would be able to start counting his ribs soon...

He shuddered.

Quickly disregarding the thought, Peter shoved the protein bar into his pocket before clambering over to his ‘bed’, all the while taking care to avoid the bits and bobs that were strewn about the floor. Laying about a foot away from the mess of fabric and cushions sat a large bucket; the sound of constant dripping could be heard as a steady but slow trickle of water leaked into it from a pipe protruding from the ceiling. It was a simple contraption Peter had built to collect rainwater, but it had sustained him successfully for months.

With one hand, he tightly clutched the blanket wrapped around his shoulders while the other dipped into the large ten gallon bucket. He winced slightly when his injured thumb brushed the icy water, but the pain was swiftly replaced with a cold numbing sensation. Gingerly, he drew his hand back out with a small amount of the liquid cupped in his shaking palm.

The coolness of the water soothed his sore throat, but it did nothing for his empty stomach and it only made him long for a hot meal and drink even more.

_Stop._

Silently, he chastised himself. It was weak moments like this that Peter refused to indulge. There was no point in wishing for something he could never have.

_It’s my fault._

_I deserve this..._

It was at this point Peter finally allowed himself to collapse onto the ‘bed’ and take out his meager meal. It did nothing to sate his hunger and was gone far too quickly, and so he was left alone with nothing but the sound of rain and his thoughts for company which, as of late, had not been the most encouraging of companions. He just wanted to close his eyes; to just give in and slip into the dark recesses of sleep and forget everything.

_But when do I ever get what I want?_

Forced to reflect on the day, he was brought back to the moment in the alleyway. What happened to him back there? He just... froze. Sure, he avoided people now a days for the most part but that was because he was dangerous, not because he was afraid... _right?_  

Suddenly, memories of a certain pair of hands grabbing at him and forcing him down resurfaced, making him want to vomit the little food he had in his stomach. He pulled the blanket that he had wrapped around his shaking shoulders even tighter in a vain attempt at comfort. Before he had been able to bury those fears and suppress those horrible memories for years… but ever since _‘the bite’_ everything just felt so _intense._

 _‘You deserve this...‘_ Skip’s voice whispered.

_I deserve this because..._

_Because...?_

Was it because he almost killed a man? Or was it because he was too weak to do what needed to be done to protect his family? Could he have even done it...? Either way he couldn’t win; either way he was still a monster— a mutated freak with blood stained on his hands...

But which is worse? Allowing your family to die by the hands of another, or taking the life of another with your own hands? Squeezing his eyes shut, the guilt he had been harboring for far too long began to morph into fierce anger. _How was any of this fair!?_

The sudden sound of seams ripping startled him for only a moment; he had pulled the blanket too tightly around his shoulders, causing a large tear to form down the middle and rendering the blanket useless. Angrily, he threw the ruined blanket across the room, before reaching across his nest of fabric for a frayed curtain to now use as protection from the frigid air, all the while cursing his inhuman powers.

He lay there, too cold, hungry, and angry to even care or think about sleep, as a million more questions began to swarm his mind.

_Why is my life like this?_

_Why did I have to be cursed with these powers?_

_Why did my parents have to die?_

_Why did Skip have to steal my innocence and taint my body?_

_Why did I have to lose my Aunt and Uncle?_

_Why am I still alive?_

_Why can’t I just close my eyes and never wake up?_

_Why?_

_Why?_

_WHY?!_

_Why should I even try at this point. What is there even left for me? Nothing— I’ve got nothing left to live for..._

The striking revelation hurt, hitting him hard right in his already aching heart and causing an agonizing sob to involuntarily escape his throat. Tears began to pour down his face, and with each droplet his anger dissipated. Letting go of the tattered curtain, he brought his hands up to run over his wet face and then up through his greasy and overgrown curls. His fingers clenched and he began pulling painfully at the roots of his still damp hair, but the physical pain was only a brief distraction from the dark mental torment his mind was constantly trying to drag him down into.

“I’m so s- sorry! I- I don’t want to die!” he cried, tugging even harder at his hair, “P-please, I don’t... I- I don’t...”

He was going to die here alone, and nobody would even know! Nobody would care...

He knew he didn’t deserve anything... He knew he was a freak. He knew May and Ben had never wanted children. He knew if he were never around May and Ben would still be alive and happy. He knew even his parents never really wanted him; why else would they always drop him off at May and Ben’s for days— weeks even. He knew he was a waste of space with no purpose. He knew these things, _he knew!_ But he also knew he didn’t want to die... even if he deserved to.

“I- I’m sorry! I- I-,” his pathetic sobs quickly evolved into harsh coughing, putting an end to his miserable pleas. However, his tears continued to fall in silence and Peter made no attempt to stop them.

Skip was right; he deserved this...

* * *

He was unsure how long he must have cried before sleep eventually claimed him, but he woke up tired; he _always_ woke up tired... Most nights the world was just too loud, and his only respite came when his body would finally just give out from sheer exhaustion. He always welcomed the descent into nothingness as it was the only place he could find a shred of peace in his life, but every now and then the terrors of the night would torment him unceasingly.

It would seem even in his dreams Peter could never find true rest, and it was only upon waking that he could escape the torment of his night terrors, only to be greeted by the trials of his reality.

It was still dark outside; that much he could tell, but he was not sure how long he’d actually been asleep. It could have been anywhere from one hour to several...

However Peter knew one thing for certain— He would not be getting anymore rest that night.

Sighing, he lifted a weak hand up to his face to rub at his tired eyes, unsurprised to find them wet with fresh tears that were now mixing with the dried tear tracks on his face from his earlier breakdown. However, he found that despite the new tears, he really just felt nothing at all... Just numb, the voices from his nightmares only faint whispers now...

At this point he didn’t want to go back to sleep, knowing that the voices and bloodstained hands in his nightmares would force him to relive _everything_ again tenfold. All he wanted right then was to continue to be numb and feel nothing, and after everything he’s been through over the past several months, it’s almost a welcome feeling. A feeling he despised and yet craved to wallow in.

It took him several minutes to work up the motivation to crawl over to his discarded back-pack. He wanted to silence the voices completely and to just succumb to the nothingness.

Digging through the front pocket of the bag, he pulled out his headphones and proceeded to slip them on in an attempt to just block out everything. But tonight the voices were annoyingly persistent...

_‘Pe— ’_

_No._

_‘Peter?’_

_Go away._

_‘It’s getting late Pete...’_

_It’s too late..._

A familiar tingling started to build on the back of his neck, strengthening his senses and causing Peter to groan. _Why now!?_ He could feel dread crash like a boulder in the pit of his stomach as he knew that at he was going to be forced to _feel everything._

_‘Everything’s not fine...’_

_I know... I’m sorry, it was just an accident... I didn’t mean for any of this to happen..._

_‘Peter!’_

_I’m sorry..._

“Don’t test me!”

Peter shot up quicker than he thought his exhausted and ill body was even capable of. That voice had not come from his nightmares... that had been real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story just got 50 bookmarks (YAY! THANK YOU SO MUCH) and I can't believe it. You are all so wonderful. As always please forgive any spelling/grammar errors. Alas I do try my best but I am only human. Let me know what you think of the new chapter and again, I can't thank everyone enough for every kudos, comment, and bookmark. Your support means the world to me!


	5. Haphephobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haphephobia  
> “a rare specific phobia that involves the fear of touching or of being touched. This is often associated with a fear of sexual assault... many boys who have been the victims of sexual abuse have a fear of being touched, quoting one victim who describes being touched as something that "burns like fire".” -Wikipedia

“Don’t test me!”

Peter wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, just sure that he _needed_ to do something.

_That voice..._

Memories of another cold and dark night began clouding his thoughts; _a man’s gruff and harsh tone, a dirty shoe pinning him down, being threatened at gunpoint... May and Ben’s blood on his hands._

_That voice!_

_‘Don’t test me! I said-’_

_The mugger..._

His enhanced hearing had picked up on the threat despite his headphones and sudden torrent of emotions. The familiar but odd tingling that he was slowly growing more accustomed to was quickly overwhelming him, each sensation bleeding into the next and intensifying everything as each second passed.

Shock. Disbelief. Rage. Loathing. Guilt...

Guilt.

He _needed_ to do something!

Before Peter was even fully aware of his actions, his tired form was moving, dragging itself out of his dirty makeshift bed and forcing his worn body to stand.

In his haste he had ripped off his headphones, and the next thing he knew he was stumbling once again out into the cold rain.

* * *

 

_Stop. Don’t go that way. Turn here. Turn again. Run. Faster. Faster! Danger!_

After months of hopelessly trying to ignore and suppress the tingling, he finally gave in and listened, letting it guide him. What was the point in trying to tune it out anymore? Tonight would either be all or nothing. If he lived to see tomorrow then perhaps his anger would subside, his fear dissipate, and his guilt... Well, he’d cross that bridge if he got to it.

And if he died? Then at least it was a guarantee that his suffering would finally—

Peter felt a shudder travel up his spine.

_No._

He refused to entertain the thought and pressed on, directing his focus to finding the mugger...

The rain had long stopped coming down in harsh sheets, but the soft trickling was still enough to make him shiver each time a cold droplet made its way into his messy curls. Reaching back, his hands searched for his hood to use as protection from the storm.

“I- I told you, I don’t have anything!”

Peter's weary legs stumbled for just a brief moment, almost halting completely as he was suddenly caught off guard by the stuttered declaration.

_That voice..._

That voice had been distinctly different, and with his hypersensitive hearing he was able to tell that it had sounded young and female, perhaps even around his own age...?

However, his thoughts were abruptly interrupted as another round of painful coughing suddenly erupted from his already raw throat. His lungs ached with each raspy wheeze as they protested to his late night run, but he refused to slow his pace, and so in a desperate attempt to muffle the noise Peter quickly pulled up his scarf to cover his mouth. 

_Turn here._

Upon rounding the final corner Peter immediately stopped dead in his tracks as he was met with a familiar but horrifying scene; fear suddenly froze him where he stood and replaced the clarity that the tingling brought. 

_No no no no no no no—_

_What am I doing?! I can’t—_

“Just drop the bag girl. NOW!” the menacing figure commanded through gritted teeth. Peter couldn’t see the man's face, as he had his back turned and his hood up, effectively concealing his face and hair. Peter's eyes rapidly shifted  over to the girl and he met her gaze. Her brown eyes widened in shock, only taking Peter in for a second before swiftly returning her attention back to her assailant.

She had been backed against the brick wall but was standing her ground, protectively hiding a large back-pack behind herself. She looked up at her attacker with defiance, but Peter could hear each and every frantic beat of her heart just as clear as he could feel his own pounding away in fear.

"No," the girl whispered curtly, instantly jarring Peter out of his fear-induced stupor and causing the muggers lips to draw back in a snarl.

Suddenly, _something_ caused Peter to inhale sharply.

 _Something_ told him that the mugger was about to raise his fist and strike the brown eyed girl; the tingling, _his sixth sense._

Despite every human instinct screaming at him to run away, Peter was moving forward at an impossible speed, his panic overtaking him. Sooner than the man could even raise his fist halfway, Peter was behind him. He grabbed a fistful of the back of the muggers hoodie and forcefully yanked him away from the now stunned girl.

The man hit the opposite wall with a loud **_THUD!_**

 _No._  

Eyes wide, mouth gaping, Peter looked down at his hands in horror...

_Did I just—_

The man was obviously just as surprised by the unexpected interruption of being thrown across the alleyway, but despite that he recovered quickly. Suddenly he was up again and stalking towards Peter with nothing but unadulterated fury in his eyes.

A minuscule part of Peter was grateful he hadn’t killed him, but now he had a very angry man approaching him whose intentions were certainly hostile. A much more vocal voice in the back of his mind told him to run, to _get away_ , but instead _something_  forced his trembling legs to take an unsteady step forward, placing himself between the man and the girl.

_Watch out!_

Faster then he thought his poor body was even capable of moving, Peter was suddenly evading the mans fists left and right.

_Dodge! Sidestep! Duck! And repeat!_

His breaths were coming out in hard huffs, reminding Peter of his pre-bite struggles with asthma. It was just getting so hard to breathe and he wasn’t sure how long he’d able to keep avoiding the mans wild swings. At this rate, he would undoubtedly end up being backed into a corner with all of his energy exhausted. He knew he had to restrain the man somehow, but how could he do that without the guarantee of not accidentally killing him?

Internally, his guilt was screaming at him. _I failed to save May and Ben, but this was the man who ultimately pulled the trigger. Doesn’t he deserve to pay?_  His breaths were coming out much to shallow and fast and his emotions were once again battling for dominance as a barrage of conflicting feelings hit him; anger, confusion, grief, fear, **guilt**... all he wanted was for it all to go away and for everything to be quiet again. Would he ever be free of this guilt; would his hands ever be clean, or was he forever tainted? How could he—

**_BOOM!_ **

The blow sent Peter sprawling painfully down onto the hard pavement. Reaching up, he gingerly rubbed at his now aching jaw, relieved to find that at least it wasn’t broken, but it stung painfully and he knew it was definitely going to bruise.

However, his relief was short lived as the mugger was no where near done with him. Quickly scrambling back from the man, Peter’s fear began to overwhelm him, silencing the guidance and clarity granted to him by his strange senses. He could feel himself starting to hyperventilate.

He had been too weak again! He couldn’t do what he should have of done to save May and Ben, and now he was going to get what he deserved...

Closing his eyes tightly, Peter waited for the next inevitable strike—

_**THWACK!** _

The unexpected sound of something heavy bashing against a thick skull echoed throughout the entire alleyway. The mugger, who had been very close to cornering him, was now awkwardly stumbling forward. Peter was just barely able to get out of the way before the large man crashed down onto the filthy ground below.

Behind where the mugger had previously been standing stood the girl with the brown eyes and tousled curls. In her hands she clenched what appeared to be a large and thick book, however she didn’t linger long. After successfully knocking their attacker down she was quickly shoving the book back into her bag with her new goal clearly being to get out of there as quickly as possible.

But Peter remained frozen in place with his eyes glued to the mans face.

The man groaned, not entirely unconscious but for the time being he had been successfully subdued. The smack to the back of his head and the subsequent fall had caused the mans hood to fall off...

_Black hair— Greasy, curly, black hair... May and Ben’s killer had been blonde... This wasn’t the man with the gun; the man who had threatened him, who had shot—_

“Don’t just stand there!” the girls voice came from the end of the alley. She had stopped to turn and yell back at him, but it wasn’t long before she took off running again.

Peter sprinted after her in a daze.

* * *

 

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so out of it, maybe he would have noticed that through all the twists and turns they took through the back streets, that the girl was only leading them deeper into the maze of alleyways. It was only when they rounded the final corner and were met by a dead end that Peter's foggy brain recognized where exactly it was they had ended up. The only thing blocking them from one of the busier and lit streets of Queens was a tall apartment building. _His_ old apartment building...

 _Of course,_ Peter groaned. _Parker luck strikes again. The universe must truly hate me..._

Just then he could feel his throat begin to scratch and tighten. He could feel the coughs building but he was unable to hold them back as another bout began. His hacking was so violent this time around that he had to steady himself by placing his trembling hands against the brick wall of the building.

Each cough rattled his aching body and caused the girl’s determined gaze to slip as concern clouded her features. His sensitive hearing suddenly picked up on the rhythm of her raging heartbeat as it fell in sync with their pursuers heavy footsteps.

He was close.

 _THINK THINK THINK_ , Peter racked his tired brain. They were running out of time! This side of the complex had no entrance; only a insurmountable brick wall. _Arg! What good are super powers if all they do is ruin— Wait..._

Glancing at his hands resting on the cold brick and then shifting his gaze upwards, Peter was struck with a sudden idea.

Almost immediately, something in him vehemently rejected the idea of having someone so close; someone touching him. At just the thought of it, Peter felt an uneasy tightness building in his chest, but he could see no other option...

“Grab onto me,” he urged the girl, his voice shaking from nerves and raspy from disuse. 

The girls eyes studied him, obviously confused and conflicted as she glanced at him and then followed his gaze to the wall as realization suddenly dawned on her face. She quickly extended an unsure hand and took hold of one of his sleeves, causing Peter to involuntarily flinch at her touch. However, she began tugging at his arm, making it clear that her intentions were to pull him away from the wall and out of the alley to find another escape.

It would have to be enough.

“Hold on,” Peter instructed.

“Wha- aaaaahh!” Her question morphed into a startled scream as he hauled her up almost effortlessly. She quickly wrapped her arms around his neck as he began scaling the large building.

The apartment complex was much taller then the three stories he would normally climb to get to his ‘home’, and Peter could certainly feel the strain as his weakened muscles screamed from the exertion of having to carry the weight of two.

_I can’t breathe..._

He struggled to haul himself up.

_I can’t breathe..._

The girl suddenly tightened her hold around him.

_I can’t breathe..._

The taut feeling in Peter’s chest was agonizing.

_I can’t breathe..._

He could feel himself starting to slip—

_‘Breathe.’_

His hand gripped the rim of the roof.

 _‘Just breathe,’_ May whispered...

Using the last of his strength he hauled himself and the girl over the edge.

He did it.

Peter waited to feel relief; waited to feel free of pain, but the burning sensation in his lungs and where the girl’s hands clutched was just too much! Quickly detangling himself from the girl’s death grip, Peter lurched away, the areas of his arms and neck were the girl and been gripping feeling as though they were on fire.

He could feel himself clawing at his body; desperately trying to relieve the burning, but his shaking hands did nothing to alleviate his torment. He could hear the girl yelling as his world faded into nothing.

* * *

 

The lab was in a state of organized chaos. Tools and bits of machinery were strategically strewn about the place and all but one of the overhead lights had been shut off. 

Quietly sitting under the only light source, Tony Stark was slumped in front of his workstation with his pounding head being supported by his worn hands. An empty coffee pot and mug lay to his right and a mess of papers full of marks, notes, and cross outs littered the desk. He just stared blankly at the document sitting in front of him; he hadn’t even touched it in the last hour.

Suddenly, he could hear soft footsteps approaching him from out of the darkness. He sighed, with his silence interrupted he lifted his head from his hands and quickly swiveled his chair around to greet the intruder, "How did you get in here?"

Natasha just cocked her head and raised her eyebrows, clearly not going to give him that answer.

"FRIDAY, I told you not to let anyone in here."

However, before the AI could even defend herself Natasha spoke up, "She didn’t let me in."

Exhaling dramatically, Tony turned back to the mess of papers laying on the desk all the while grumbling angrily about ‘spies’.

Ignoring his comments, Natasha proceeded to walk up to the paper riddled desk and gently place a single hand on top of the paper Tony was currently examining, successfully hiding it from his view.

"Ross is playing us."

"You think I don’t know this?" he looked up from his notes and snapped.

Sternly, Natasha fired back, "Tony, somebody was able to break into the compound, take out Sam, and steal your tech, and now several other enhanced individuals and vigilantes have risen and are reportedly recking havoc. They’re making the public nervous and giving Ross more credibility by the day. It’s only a matter of time before we’re all forced to sign the original accords. We can’t delay this much longer… I don’t know if our efforts to amend—"

"Did Steve send you?” Tony suddenly interrupted.

"…No. I came of my own accord. Steve’s not here."

 _Right, it was Sunday_ , he’d forgotten. Steve was currently visiting Margaret Carter.

Brushing it off, Tony tiredly gestured to the pile of papers that littered his desk, “Look Nat, I know. These people need be held accountable but with how the accords are currently... I don't know what will happen with the team if they are passed."

Natasha could only nod solemnly just before she leaned down and began gathering the strewn about document into a single manageable pile.

“I am still for this, but-" Natasha trailed off before sighing and shifting her gaze downward, "Go upstairs and get some sleep. It’s seven in the morning. You look terrible.”

“Thanks Nat,” he could feel the sarcasm dying in his throat.

Without looking up from her task, Natasha asked, "You sure you don’t want to accompany me to the UN tomorrow? You’re quite experienced in telling the government ‘No’."

He felt himself smirk tiredly. "That was before—" he didn’t finish. Back then the government only wanted his suit; now they wanted full command of the Avengers and much more. He rubbed at his tired eyes before sighing, "I can’t. Ross has requested that I stay put in case he needs Iron Man." _Or rather, he has ordered me grounded so I don't get in his way..._

"Requested?"

"More like demanded."

"Of course."

Picking up the pile of papers, Natasha slowly made her way back to the lab’s entrance and stopped in the doorway before looking back and asked, "You doing okay?"

“Always,” He supplied, looking like he was still trying to convince himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off I just want to say thank you so much for reading! Every kudos and comment always makes my day!  
> Second,  
> IMPORTANT TIMELINE CHANGES  
> Now that we are this far in the story, I just thought I would clear up some timeline changes. The terrorist attack in Lagos never resulted in the deaths innocent people. Zemo never frames Bucky for blowing up the UN and killing King T’chaka (Basically bucky is still in hiding during this story). The accords have been proposed and are being worked on but because of the lack of public outcry from these two specific events that happened at the beginning of CA:CW, the government is being a lot more lenient. Also, at this point, Avengers Tower has not been sold, however the compound is the main base for the team.  
> Third... comment pwease, I love hearing your feedback.


	6. The Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! I'm not dead, I swear! Sorry this one took a bit longer! I was on vacation, then I got sick, then Kingdom Hearts 3 came out so...  
> ANYWAY, I just want to say thank you so much to all my lovley readers. I just had 100 people publicly boomark this story! <3 WOW! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!

The air was thick; covered in a dense layer of black smoke that caused Peter’s eyes to water and his lungs to scream. He could feel the heat on his back, the source of the fumes seemingly behind him. Straining his aching legs, he forced himself further into the smoke cloud, trying to escape the roaring blaze that was rapidly catching up with him.

The entire world was on fire, and no one could save him.

Suddenly, from the impenetrable black smog materialized a dozen pairs of blood encrusted hands, each disembodied limb set about clawing at him, preventing him any feasibility of being able to outrun the oncoming flames. The unexpected onslaught of disjointed hands were making vicious grabs for him from every direction; tearing at his clothes and painfully digging into his skin.

Out of the darkness he could hear several faint voices, their snide whispers overlapping as they called out to him...

_Peter._

_Mutant._

_Tainted._

_Monster._

_‘Einstein...’_

In spite of his best efforts, Peter was powerless; unable to break free from the horrifying multitude of bloodied hands. Without warning, he was violently spun around and forced down onto the hard ground, giving him full view of the destruction left in his wake. He wanted to scream; to cry out for anybody to come and save him, but he was unable to find his voice.

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he bowed his head in defeat, letting the sudden darkness consume him as he waited, hoping his death would at least be swift and painless...

However, only a moment later he felt a sharp tug at the crown of his head. One of the hands had taken a fistful of his unkempt hair and painfully wrenched his head up while another one of the hands clawed at his face to coerce his eyes open, forcing him to gaze upon the the flame engulfed world.

Yet this time he was met with a slightly different scene... Before him stood four figures, their faces shrouded in smoke and shadow, making them almost unrecognizable.

_Almost._

Despite the smoke hindering his vision, Peter was able to identify his Aunt and Uncle, but the other two individuals he could not place, although they had an air of familiarity about them... “M- May?” he managed to whisper, his voice incredibly weak. “Uncle Ben...”

Hesitantly, the four figures turned their attention to his pitiful form, their eyes widening as they looked down upon him, but it was not love nor even concern that clouded their features; it was fear. Peter watched, dumbfounded as the four stared at him, open mouthed in horror as they began to shrink away.

They were afraid of him...

As they turned to retreat, the flames briefly illuminated the two unknown individuals faces and the sudden feeling of recollection hit Peter like a freight train—

“Mom-” for a brief moment, he was shocked into silence. He didn’t recognize his own voice. It sounded too young and scared, like a child's. But the sight of his family running towards the flames was enough to break him from his stupor and he began violently fighting against the slew of blood coated hands.

“Daddy! Wait!”

Just then, the phantom taunts began to grow louder as the hands pinning him down tightened their hold as he struggled uselessly against their viselike grip.

“Stop!” his childlike voice continued to scream, but his pleas were easily drowned out by the voices relentless insults.

_Freak._

“Ben! I didn’t mean to—”

_Inhuman._

“I’m sorry, May—”

_Broken._

“Mommy... P- Please!” he could feel his eyes begin to well with tears at the realization that he could do nothing to keep his family from the blaze. “Come back!”

One by one, Peter lost sight of each member of his family until just one figure stood wavering before the flames.

“Dad!” he cried, managing to wriggle one of his arms free from his captors hold. With tears pouring down his face he thrust out his hand in a last ditch effort to protect his family—

The sight of his own blood covered hand made him want to vomit.

His father turned away...

“No-!” his cry was abruptly cut off as the hand holding his head up suddenly migrated to his neck and wrapped itself around his throat and squeezed. The more he struggled, the tighter the hand around his throat became.

_I can’t breathe..._

* * *

 Coming back to was tedious. His body was desperately fighting against consciousness, likely knowing that passing out and finally collapsing from utter exhaustion was the only time he could ever find rest in this deafening world. But the remnants of his nightmares lingered, refusing to fully leave him; he could feel the heat of the fire burning his skin, his tears welling up in his eyes, cold hands on his neck—

His body suddenly jerked awake in a panic. Reddened eyes shot open, their focus straying to the hand that was currently pressing against his exposed throat.

Peter paled and his mouth fell open in a soundless scream. Quickly, he sat up and clumsily began scrambling backwards, scraping up his hands in the process and reopening the cut on his thumb, desperately trying to distance himself from the perceived threat.

Suddenly there was a large and solid presence at his back, blocking his retreat. He was trapped!

“Whoa!” the abrupt shout of surprise startled him, causing his fearful gaze to be drawn up to-

_The girl from before..._

“Hey,” she spoke softly, “it’s just me,”  and slowly she began to raise both of her hands up, palms exposed, and took a hesitant step towards him. Peter flinched away unintentionally. Instantly she stopped her advance as her sharp eyes once again began taking him in. A look of understanding suddenly dawned upon her face. Cautiously, she began lowering herself to a kneeling position, hands still raised in a gesture of goodwill, “Just me,” she repeated quietly.

With the gradual realization that he was no longer in any danger, Peter was slowly able to calm his panicked breathing to take in their surroundings. They were still on the rooftop of the apartment complex, his back was currently resting against the door that led down into the buildings stairwell, and the sun was just barely peaking above the horizon, meaning he had spent the entire night either passed out or overextending his worn body.

The girl knelt a few feet away from him, unmoving and silent. Her deep brown eyes studied him for a few minutes before she finally lowered her hands to her lap and spoke, “I didn’t mean to scare you... I was just checking your pulse.”

Wide eyed, Peter could only nod dumbly.

“You have a fever.”

Again, he remained silent.

“You’re bleeding.”

“...Oh.” he mumbled, instantly aware of the stinging sensation on his palms. He raised his shaking hand to examine the reopened cut and the new scratches marring his skin, confirming that he was indeed bleeding.

The sight of his own blood covered hand made him want to vomit.

Scenes from his nightmares flashed across his vision and he quickly lowered his hand back down before taking in several deep, shuddering breaths.

The world fell into silence once again as neither of them spoke for several seconds until—

“You okay?”

“Me?” Peter questioned, disbelief coloring his tone. After all this time it almost felt weird to have someone want to know if he was _‘okay’_. “Y-yeah. Fine,” he eventually managed the stuttered reply, and as if to prove that he was alright, he gingerly made a move to stand only for his body to betray him. His head was suddenly spinning and his weak muscles sent him sprawling back down towards the dirty rooftop. However at the last second he caught himself; his hand jutting up instinctively to stick onto the flat surface of the door he had been backed up against.

He hung there awkwardly for just a second before quickly righting himself and risking a glance at the girls stunned expression.

_Crap._

“How- How do you do that?” she asked, hesitantly making a gesture towards his sticky hands.

 _‘Freak’_ , the voices in his head were quick to remind him, but looking up at her quizzical expression, Peter could see that her eyes held no fear; she was curious.

“I… It’s a long story,” he whispered.

She pursed her lips, her shrewd gaze continuing to study him, almost as though she could see right through him and dissect every secret he held before eventually closing her eyes and simply shrugging, “Alright, whatever spider-man. I guess it doesn’t really matter… Thanks by the way. For helping me.”

“R- right… I mean, you’re welcome. It was nothing, really… I should also be saying thank you,” _Spider-man? Seriously?_ He’d laugh if he wasn’t so exhausted. This girl didn’t know how right she was…

Clearing his thoughts of radioactive spiders Peter opened his mouth again but no sound came out. It had been so long since he had spoken to anyone that he felt unsure on how to even proceed without stumbling over his words, “Um… D- do you know how to get home from here?” he gestured to the main road below, opposite to the alleyway they had just come from where lights and cars could be seen alongside the faint silhouettes of pedestrians walking below them.

The girl's gaze followed his own, looking down over the edge of the building, “Yeah, I’ll be fine. But I’ll just use the fire escape this time if you don’t mind,” she smirked before turning back to him. “Having said that, can _you_ get home. Do you need me to- ”

“No!” he looked down below at the busy streets full of so many people… “Uh… I’m fine now.”

She didn’t look convinced, but decidedly changed the subject regardless, “What were you doing out by yourself anyway?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” Peter quipped back, the hint of a smile that was suddenly gracing his lips feeling foreign to him.

The girl crossed her arms and her eyebrows raised slightly just before she bluntly repeated Peter’s own earlier words, “It’s a long story.”

Nodding, he didn’t question her further on her very early morning escapade. “Alright, well...” not entirely sure what else he could say, Peter awkwardly excused himself. “The circumstances kind of sucked, but it was nice to meet you- uh...?” he paused, realizing he had never asked for her name.

“Michelle. My name’s Michelle.” 

* * *

 The elevator doors had barely finished opening when Natasha first heard the frustrated mumbling coming from the common room. Her steps were silent as she rounded the corner, knowing that only one other person would be awake and working at this time...

“This is insane,” Doctor Banner muttered under his breath as he furiously flipped through a crumpled copy of the Sokovia Accords. The creases in his forehead deepened as he continued to whisper to himself, his concern growing more and more apparent with each turn of a page.

“Morning Bruce,” she softly greeted.

His head shot up in surprise, “Nat!” his reading glasses were slightly askew and his hair was disheveled, divulging the fact that he too must’ve had trouble sleeping the night before.

She took the empty space next to him on the couch, her gaze wandering over to his tired eyes as he also wished her a good morning. She could tell the small smile he produced for her was forced, but she was grateful for the small action nonetheless. Seeing a genuine smile was rare these days as everyone in the compound was on edge. She couldn’t really blame them of course...

Wanda seemed to have retreated into her own mind, hardly speaking to anyone except Vision occasionally, who had also grown more quiet. She always preferred to sleep in and was likely still holed up in her bedroom, but when she wanted to be seen there was always a permanent frown marring her features, making her appear perpetually lost in thought.

Steve was an early riser however, and usually would have been up and about at this time either reading, making breakfast, or working out with Sam—

_Sam..._

Recalling the faraway expression on Sam’s face the night before caused an uncomfortable feeling to build in Natasha’s chest. Steve and Sam had come back from a mission very late last night looking completely dead on their feet.

With the threat of the accords being passed looming over everyone’s heads, Steve had thrown himself into avenging, and made it his duty to prove to the world that the good the Avengers were capable of outweighed any potential threat they may pose. Sam had made it his personal mission to make sure Steve didn’t end up killing himself in the process, but their recent work load was obviously taking its toll as Sam had not yet emerged from his bedroom at all, but despite how tired Steve must have been, the super-soldier had risen early and quietly departed just before the sun had peaked over the horizon.

Natasha sincerely missed hearing the two’s laughter fill the halls each morning...

Theirs weren’t the only voices absent from the compound, as Clint had ultimately decided it was time to retire and be with his family. Natasha was happy for him of course, but she would never admit out loud how much she truly missed his company.

No one had seen Thor for awhile and Colonel Rhodes presence was nearly nonexistent. The Colonel had been called away to D.C. for what some would consider mundane tasks for an Avenger of his rank. He was constantly being overworked, frustrated at having to repeatedly follow dead leads and bad tips. The few times he was able to return and find refuge at the compound were always short-lived.

It was obvious that Tony missed his friend during these long absences, as he would always grow more solemn and lock himself up in his lab for longer and longer periods of time when Rhodey wasn’t around. She was certain by that point that everyone had noticed the stress balls littered around the compound, but no one commented on their ever growing numbers.

Speaking of Tony...

“He stayed up all night again, didn’t he?” Bruce questioned, his smile falling as he gestured to the pile of papers in her hands.

She nodded just before handing the stack over for Bruce to examine, “It appears he was trying to become an expert in international law overnight.”

“Well if anyone could-” Bruce trailed off, his eyes skimmed over the notes and markings adorning the pages, “He’s still in support of the accords...” he muttered, skepticism dripping from his voice.

“No,” she quickly jumped to Tony’s defense “Not with how they are now. Surely you understand-”

“Not with Ross in charge,” Bruce interrupted, his face morphing into a scowl. His knuckles were white and shaking slightly as his eyes began to glaze over. Natasha knew that Bruce would often clenched his fists when he thought no one was looking, however his resentment was currently on full display as he felt no reason to hide it from her, “Not with Ross,” he quietly repeated.

Slowly, Natasha placed a firm hand over Bruce’s quivering fist, causing his gaze to gradually drift back to her. “I don’t know if there’s anything we can do to change that.” She didn’t know every detail concerning Bruce’s past experiences with Thaddeus Ross, but she knew enough to understand his hatred for the current Secretary of State. Ross’s goal had always been the same. He claimed the experiment that brought about the Hulk had been nothing more than a freak accident; that the Bio-Tech Force Enhancement Project was only meant to research radiation resistance... But his true goal was to recreate the Super Soldier Serum and build an army. The only _inhuman’s_ Ross wanted around are those he had full control over.

“I don’t want what happened to me to ever transpire to another,” Bruce explained before turning his attention back to the document clenched in his hands, “How is anyone able to justify this? They have to be able to see what he is doing,” he argued before he began listing off only a fraction of the Sokovia Accord’s regulations to prove his point, “All enhanced individuals must register with the U.N. and provide biometric data such as fingerprints and DNA samples. Those with innate powers must submit to a power analysis and must also wear tracking bracelets at all times. If an enhanced individual violates the Accords they may be arrested and detained indefinitely without trial. _Enhanced?”_ he scoffed, “Under the accords definition half the team and I are barely even considered human. We’re tools; weapons in his eyes to be used as he pleases."

He exhaled before slowly unclenching his fist and slowly linking his fingers through Natasha's, “But there’s no way to prove his true intentions. The only thing we have is my word... with the way things are going," Bruce groaned, "people are less inclined to believe by the day."

"Fear-mongering,” she supplied bitterly, “He is just trying to turn everyone to his side by making them believe that we are dangerous.”

"But that’s just it... it's not just us out there anymore."

* * *

The majority of Peter’s slow walk back to the warehouse consisted of graceless stumbling and a perpetual dazed like state, his mind was too tired to really focus on much of anything other then one continuous question that kept bombarding his thoughts.

_What just happened...?_

Peter had just suffered through one of the worst nights since his aunt and uncles deaths... and yet the tiniest particle of happiness began to burn in his aching heart.

He knew he didn’t deserve to feel any amount of hope and that he’d never truly be free of his all consuming guilt, but maybe, just maybe, he had found something to live for.

Peter grinned faintly.

The soft tears trailing down his face stung his cheeks and the cold air burned his nose, it was only then that Peter realized that his scarf, _May’s scarf_ , was no longer on his person.

His smile fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BRUCE BANNER! I love his character so much and I couldn't bear to leave him out, despite what canon tells me! Plus, I firmly believe that if Bruce had been in Civil War that things would have ended a lot different.  
> Having said that however, I decided to try and stick mostly with the canon material for this story, but Bruce and Nats relationship isn’t really the focus of this story. I think they're cute, but that little hand grab is about all I’m really gonna delve into, so if you’re a brutasha shipper, sorry, that’s about all we’re gonna get in this story.  
> ALSO  
> Despite me just saying I wanted to stick to canon as much as I can... In this story Peter and Michelle have never met before, just to clear up any confusion!  
> ALSO ALSO  
> I have a tumblr under the same username, CloverBell13, if you ever want to stop by and say HI! :D  
> ALSO ALSO ALSO  
> Please don't forget to comment! I'm sorry if it sounds like I'm begging, but I just really love to hear your thoughts and feedback.  
> THANKS AGAIN FOR READING!! <3


	7. Michelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR BEING PATIENT WITH ME!!  
> I'm sorry this took so long, but I’ve been struggling with my heath recently and it just makes things like writing hard to find the time for, BUT I promise I will finish this story! 
> 
> I was nearly done with this chapter before I went to see Endgame...  
> Just dang... That’s all I’m gonna say because there’s still a lot of people who haven’t seen it.

This was stupid. Idiotic. A waste of precious energy and time... but the mere thought of loosing the last physical connection he had to his Aunt was just heartbreaking.

Exhaling shakily, Peter was quick to pull his hood down further over his eyes and his jacket tighter around himself, trying to suppress his shivers while simultaneously attempting to comfort himself. With each unsteady step taken, he found himself regretting his decision to venture back out into the bitter world more and more. His sore throat still ached painfully and his raspy wheezing simply refused to subside, causing each breath to sound similar to that of a middle-aged smoker.

Following his return to the warehouse that morning, Peter had proceeded to collapse into his nest of fabric, but he only managed to get in a few hours of extra sleep. The small fragment of joy that he had felt after meeting Michelle withered away as the day slowly progressed and he was bombarded with memories from his most recent nightmare. It left his mind restless, anxious, and unable to relax. No matter how much he tried to forget and move on, visions of blood covered hands always haunted the shadows...

He had tried to distract himself by making another attempt to repair his homemade heater, but to no avail; without the right parts he feared he would never be able to get it working again. It was not long after until he found himself alone again with nothing to do but embrace the silence. Shortly after consuming his meager meal for the day he waited quietly as the hours ticked by with no one but himself for company, for he couldn't bring himself to slink out again until the suns rays fully slipped away.

The streets were now empty and silent, as at this time most had deserted the darkening city for the evening. Other then a stray tabby cat that had darted across his path several blocks ago, Peter found himself to be completely alone.

He supposed the previous nights rainfall had discouraged many from braving the cold streets, and those like him who had nowhere to call home had sought to take refuge wherever they could, hunkering down in the subway system, covered bus stops, and under bridges, for although the rain had stopped it’s remnants remained. Large freezing puddles dotted the streets, successfully soaking his still damp shoes that hadn’t even entirely dried from the night before.

Despite this Peter continued on, finding that retracing his steps from his earlier escapade that morning was easier then he originally anticipated, considering how completely out of it he had been. While slowly making his way through the alleyways his eyes scanned the barren ground, searching for a long strip of discarded fabric. However, his aunts scarf was no where to be found. The longer his search went on, the more discouraged he grew. His fear that another had found the abandoned scarf and claimed it as their own became more of a sickening possibility by the second. Inwardly he scolded himself for his cowardliness; if he had just braved the city earlier he may have had a chance of finding May's scarf, but now it would seem that it might be lost to him for good.

Eventually, after his slow paced and dejected trudge through the alleyways, his feet brought him back to the backside of his old apartment building; the dead end Michelle had led them to...

Nervously, he began biting at his dry and cracked lips as his gaze hesitantly traveled up the side of the building to the roof, knowing that there was only one place he had left to look.

However, before placing his worn and scratched up hands on the cold brick, he took an uncertain step back while his eyes darted about making sure to double and triple check his surroundings. After confirming that no one was around to see him, he heaved another long sigh and set about his task, a new look of determination shining in his eyes.

This time around he found the act of hauling himself up the side of the building to be far easier. Although, he figured, it was obvious that the lack of bearing another person's weight in addition to not being on the verge of a panic attack would improve any situation.

In spite of this, Peter found himself stalling right before reaching the roof’s edge. The higher he climbed, the better his view of the city lights in the distance grew. His enhanced eyesight could easily see the outlined tops of the tallest buildings jutting against the sky; the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, Avenger’s Tower... A sense of longing suddenly filled him, but the twinkling world felt almost foreign to him now; beautiful and yet uninviting. He couldn't remember a specific moment when his city stopped feeling like home... But as the months dragged on, he found it harder and harder to ignore the feeling that he just didn't belong in this world anymore. He was just... _different_.

Quickly turning his eyes away from the city skyline he focussed his gaze upward once more and continued his climb, trying to distract himself from the sudden empty feeling in his chest and onslaught of negative emotions. Soon enough his hands gripped the rooftops edge as he made one final yank to haul himself up, however the sight that greeted him once he steadied himself was not what he expected; or rather, _who_ he expected.

"Hey spider-guy."

Michelle sat on the opposite edge from him, her feet lazily dangling above the empty streets. A blanket was draped across her shoulders and a thick book lay open in her lap. She shifted her position, turning around to reveal a small flashlight in her hand that was now faintly illuminating his stunned face. Quickly, he brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the burning light, causing Michelle to smirk before she continued, "I wasn’t entirely sure if you’d come back. I was starting to think..." she trailed off as her free hand gently closed the book in her lap.

Peter stood there silently, eyes wide and unsure how to respond.

"Anyway," she started again, her voice filling the silence. She moved the light away from him and shined it upon an object that lay at her side. Peter hadn't noticed it until then, but he immediately recognized it as the back-pack that she had been so vehement to protect the night before. Quickly unzipping the bag she began sifting through its contents, obviously searching for something. After only a moment, her eye's suddenly lit up just before she began slowly pulling out a long narrow piece of navy blue fabric, "You forgot this," she said, instantly thrusting it out towards him; her quick movements causing him to involuntarily flinch and jerk back.

A knowing look suddenly flashed across her face and she withdrew her hand, his Aunt’s scarf still safe in her grip.

Extremely confused and too nervous to even move forward, Peter quickly found himself stumbling over his words, "Wha- Where did—" was all he was able to manage in his raspy voice before Michelle suddenly spoke up again.

"I’m sorry," she blurted out as her gaze drifted downward, which only succeeded in confusing him further, "What I mean to say is, well, honestly I took it... but I didn’t _intend_ to take it. I removed it after you collapsed. I swear I was just going to check your pulse but then... it was just, I was so shocked when I saw how young you were and well... I didn’t think you’d come back if I just asked- you seemed pretty freaked out and you just left so quickly, I couldn’t... but then I recognized that it was handmade so I figured it was probably important to you and... I’m sorry...

Suddenly pausing for breath she glanced back up to his stunned expression before groaning, "Ugh. I can’t believe you’ve got me rambling."

"Why?" he suddenly whispered.

"Hmmm?" her eyebrows knit together in confusion, as though she wasn’t expecting to be questioned.

"Why?” he asked again, genuinely dumbfounded, “I just don’t... don’t understand. You wanted to see me again?" Michelle didn’t come off to him as untrustworthy, but then again, neither had Skip his traitorous mind cruelly reminded him.

She blinked up at him, pausing before letting out an awkward airy laugh, “That’s all you got out of that?” Unsure how to respond Peter flushed and simply nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"Well... what you did last night... a simple thank you wasn’t enough so..." with her free hand, Michelle began digging through her back-pack once more before pulling out a plastic grocery bag tied at the top. It sagged and was clearly laden down with something inside of it. This time she didn’t thrust it out in his direction, but cautiously leaned over to place both the plastic bag and the scarf on the ground as far away as she could from herself. After swiftly retreating back to her spot on the roof, she looked up again towards him before nodding; the look in her eyes seeming to say, _‘Well? Take it.’_

Cautiously, Peter took a few steps forward before lowering himself to the ground several feet away in a kneeling position opposite Michelle. His eyes never left hers, even when he began to slowly lean forward to retrieve the articles that had been laid out before him.

His finger tips first brushed up against the familiar softness of his Aunt’s scarf and he could feel his eyes immediately begin to well with unwelcome tears. Suddenly ashamed, Peter bowed his head hoping Michelle hadn’t seen the shine in his eyes. His unsteady hands instantly made quick work wrapping the long piece of fabric around his neck. Before lowering his hands, he took hold of the looser fabric near his chin and pulled it up to cover the lower half of his face, hoping to hide his embarrassed flush.

Once concealed, he felt shielded and finally allowed himself to somewhat relax. As he inhaled deeply into the warm comfort brought on by one of the few objects Peter held onto from his old life, a sudden realization struck him. The navy fabric no longer smelled of dirt and sweat, but it had a light fragrance to it. It was not the minty vanilla scent of his Aunt, but something more... floral? Lavender maybe? Michelle must’ve washed it for him...

"Thank you," he said so softly he wasn’t even entirely sure if she had heard him. Glancing back up again, Peter briefly caught a rare smile gracing Michelle’s lips just before her expression relaxed and her eyes quickly returned to their ever astute gaze. Her focus then shifted away from his face and back down again to the unopened plastic bag, patiently waiting for him to continue.

He hesitated before also turning his attention back to the mysterious bag. Even before _‘the bite’_ , Peter had never really had many people he could call a ‘friend’. He found trusting people to be difficult. There had been Ned of course, but even Ned had never been privy to his deepest secrets... Those being Skip Westcott and _‘the bite’_. Only May and Ben had known about Skip and now he would never have the chance to tell them about his freaky spider puberty. They probably died thinking he was just some teenage brat that they wished they had never taken in...

He contemplated leaving; to just stand up, take his scarf, leave the bag and Michelle, and just go. She didn’t need to be dragged into his messed up life...

But for whatever reason he found his hands slowly moving forward until they eventually undid the knot holding the plastic closed. His curiosity ultimately won, despite his brain screaming that he was a fool for trusting anyone so quickly.

Despite the darkness of night, he was able to make out three objects residing within the old grocery bag. The first item he pulled out was a clear plastic box, and upon turning it over, he found a label that read, ‘First Aid’. In a slightly smaller print below the label was a listing of the small boxes contents; bandaids, ointment, burn cream, single use packets of pain killer, and so on...

Suddenly, Michelle’s earlier words played through his mind, _‘You’re bleeding.’_

His lips parted in surprise, though no sound came out. With a trembling hand he pulled out the next item; a bottle of cold medicine.

_‘You have a fever.’_

His shock was surely evident on his face now, and as Peter reached into the bag for the last time, his fingers brushed the third and final gift. There was a pleasant heat emanating from it...

Gently, he wrapped his hands around the warm thermos, and he inhaled deeply before his breath eventually escaped his tired body in a long sigh. Bringing one of his worn hands up to the top of the thermos, he slowly twisted the cap until it popped off and he was hit with an overwhelming sweet and sugary scent.

“I- I...” he could barely speak, let alone know what to even say. Had Michelle gotten all this for him? His throat suddenly closed and his chest felt unbearably tight. It was as though his brain just couldn’t comprehend that someone actually cared anymore unless they had an unsavory ulterior motive.

“How long have you been on your own?” Michelle’s voice suddenly cut through his thoughts.

Removing his gaze from the grand pile of gifts and fixating his attention back on her, Peter pursed his lips before pausing to consider how he should answer. In reality it had only been about three months since _‘the bite’_ and the deaths of his Aunt and Uncle, and yet it felt as though it all happened over a lifetime ago.

“How do you know I’m alone?” he whispered.

She just shrugged and looked away before simply supplying, "I'm observant."

 _No kidding_ , he thought. Every time those brown eyes gazed upon at him he felt as though he was being cut open down to his soul.

Desperately trying to swallow the impossibly large lump building in his throat, he took in a shaky breath and only managed a short answer, “Long enough,” before breaking into a violent coughing fit.

Michelle’s forehead instantly creased with worry as her hands instinctively reached out towards him, but she caught herself halfway before getting too close.

“S- Sorry...” Peter wheezed into the scarf while simultaneously trying to catch his breath.

“Drink. The heat may help soothe your throat,” she bid.

Following her instruction, Peter shakily pulled down on his scarf with one hand and raised the warm thermos to his lips with the other. Instantly, he was overcome with the rich chocolatey taste. After a diet that consisted mainly of protein bars and any halfway decent food he was able to fish out of the dumpster, the hot drink tasted like pure bliss.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have any tea. That probably would have been better...” she softly apologized.

“No,” he panted out, “This is perfect,”

_Heaven knows I need the calories..._

Silence once again descended upon the two as he drank, leading to a significant lapse in time. Eventually, Peter finished the hot drink and realized he was no longer fighting for breath and his throat did feel somewhat better.

Nervously he shifted his gaze and met Michelle’s piercing eyes once more. “Sorry- I mean- Thank you. I... I don’t know what to say...” he confessed awkwardly.

Her lips lifted partway into an almost smile, “It’s okay,” she suddenly paused and hesitated before continuing, “Social interaction has never really been my strong suit either,” she attempted a playful tone to lighten the mood, but as she continued her slight smile fell, “To be honest, I’m pretty sure you and _that guy_ are the only people to have said more then two sentences to me in the last month.”

“Oh...” he murmured unsurely. _‘That guy’_ was obviously the mugger they had outrun together—

“Wait,” he suddenly blurted out, “You didn’t come all the way back here alone, did you?” _‘After last night’_ went unsaid, but his concern was glaringly evident in his tone.

“What?” her puzzlement only lasted a brief moment before-, “Oh! No- no, no, no. I live here- Well, not here on the roof. I mean the building,” she explained, drawing Peter’s confused attention, “My mom and I moved to Queens about a month ago. I just use the fire escape to get up here, you know, to get away...”

 _‘A month ago...’_ That would explain why he didn’t recognize her despite her now living in his old building.

“Don’t worry about me,” she assured him, “I’m not planning on roaming these streets alone anytime soon.”

“Please don’t!” his sudden and unexpected outburst startled both of them; he really hadn’t meant to raise his voice and quickly found himself pulling back and shrinking into himself once more. When he spoke again, his voice returned to a raspy whisper, “It’s just-” in that moment all he could see were his hands covered in red while May and Ben’s lifeless forms lay bleeding out in a dark and deserted alleyway... “It can be really dangerous to be out here alone.”

“But you’re alone,” she countered.

He didn’t respond; _couldn’t_ respond, simply because she was right.

But he had to be alone...

“Look, I get it,” she sighed, sounding slightly exasperated, “The world has labeled you as different, and they have no interest in being proven wrong so they push you away. So in turn you do the same; you isolate yourself. _I get it,_ ” she repeated.

Peter bit his lip, “I don’t want to accidentally hurt anyone,” he whispered.

_And I’m completely terrified of someone hurting me again._

“You won’t.”

There was an air of heaviness that surrounded them. Michelle’s eyes were in some measure sympathetic, but there was a fire burning in her gaze that Peter dared not challenge.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when she changed the subject so abruptly.

“Have you ever read _Of Human Bondage?”_ she asked, her focus shifting downwards to her lap.

“Um- no,” he replied, suddenly baffled.

“Hmmm,” she hummed, sounding slightly amused as she held up the thick book she had been reading when Peter had stumbled onto the rooftop.

Over the next couple of hours Peter just listened as Michelle read out loud, filling the silence and chasing away the loneliness and shadows with her voice.

* * *

 

Monday came and went.

Nat left for the U.N. conference. Steve returned only to leave again, Sam not far behind. Rhodey remained in D.C.

Bruce grumbled. Wanda was silent. Vision observed.

Life goes on.

Everything’s _fine_.

Or at least that’s what Tony kept trying to tell himself...

By Tuesday he had locked himself away in his lab yet again, totally surrounded by a mess of scattered papers dotted with coffee splatters and pen marks. Encircling him, Tony had various display screens pulled up, each one updating periodically as new info came in.

“Boss?” FRIDAY’s synthetic voice somehow conveyed concern.

“What is it now?” he muttered, making no attempt to hide his irritation.

“There’s something you really need to see.”

Before he even had the chance to grant her permission, FRIDAY minimized his multitude of screens and pulled up a video right in front of him. The quality of the footage was poor and grainy, and It appeared to have been taken by a street camera as there was a timestamp in the corner that indicated that it had been recorded only about an hour prior.

Everything seemed normal as the video just showed some random street in New York, however everything changed the moment the car came into view. It was coming in fast; perhaps too fast...

Suddenly a hooded figure darted out into the path of the oncoming automobile, causing Tony to gasp sharply.

But what he saw next shocked him even more...

The vehicle didn’t plow through the unknown figure, but it came to a dead stop the moment it hit the hooded person.

And then they just ran away...

Not checking the driver for injuries, not apologizing for the completely crushed front end of the car. They just ran away from the scene.

 _Great_ , he thought exasperatedly, _Another so-called vigilante who doesn’t think they need to play by the rules._

“Boss?” FRIDAY interrupted his thoughts, “Secretary Ross is on the line for you.”

He groaned, “Of course he is. What do you think the chances of him not having seen this yet are?”

“Not very high Boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! Please don't forget to comment! <3  
> You can also find me on Tumblr under the same username, CloverBell13.


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